


Snack of Choice

by surrealmeme



Series: New York Soccer Dads [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Kidfic, M/M, Macbeth References, Satisfied references, Take a Break references, angelica rants, ham and laurens can't cook for shit, hamilton rants, snickers - Freeform, snickers bashing, snickers doesn't satisfy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrealmeme/pseuds/surrealmeme
Summary: Every genius has their pointless crusades.For Alexander Laurens-Hamilton and Angelica Schuyler, it is the appalling, dissatisfying Snickers bar.





	

          “Wake up, Philip,” someone said, leaning over the boy while another mercilessly ripped open the curtains so that the harsh, blinding light flooded the room. Philip groaned and turned onto his side, pulling the comforters over his head.

          “’S too early…” he moaned. “… Saturday.” Half of his words were too soft and muffled to be intelligible; however, it was clear that Philip had griped, “It’s Saturday.”

          “You’re right, it’s Saturday, and we’re going to Angelica’s,” Alexander announced, yanking back the comforter while John corrected, “ _Aunt_ Angelica.”

          “Fine, then – Non-Biological Aunt Angelica.”

          Philip had to softly laugh – the Schulyers had always been, and always would be, Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy. None of those annoying titles, although Non-biological Aunt Angelica was pretty damn good. His fathers’ chatter was incessant, due to one Alexander Laurens-Hamilton. Yes, once that man got started, there was no stopping him, regardless of what the topic happened to be. Today, it was candy bars.

          “No, but the _advertising_ – all lies! I have _never_ , not even _once_ , been satisfied by a Snickers!” Alexander kept on ranting, fully aware of the fact that no one had ever been listening and continued to do so as he followed John out of Philip’s room. Sleep, even a fleeting memory, a wisp – all long gone. Resigned to his fate, Philip dragged himself out of bed and into just barely socially acceptable dress. It was _Angelica_ they were seeing after all – she wouldn’t give a shit if he looked like actual shit.

          Philip left his room, walked through the hallway, through the living room, then into the kitchen. Alexander, being the 50% caffeine, 40% anger, and 10% sheer willpower-fueled being that he was, was devouring a rather large glass of black coffee, instead of slowly savoring it as a sane person would have. It was a wonder his tongue wasn’t completely charred on the surface. John, being, the more reasonable of the two, woke himself up from the lasting fog of sleep with ice water.

          Philip dumped himself into a chair at the kitchen island, yawning. He made no movement towards food nor drink; he simply sat. John noticed this.

          “You don’t expect us to make you breakfast, do you, Philip?” he said, laughing. “That would definitely be child abuse, if not attempted murder.”

          “Can’t you at least make a slice of toast or two? Please, Dad?” This was addressed to John, the slightly less of a safety hazard when in the kitchen. Also, Alexander preferred to be called by his name, either last or first; it had never been “Dad” or any variation of.

          “I’ll do the rest, I swear.” Philip had been taking every cooking class he could and was also “tutored” by Theodosia, much to the chagrin of both Alexander and Aaron Burr. John and the Schuylers found it rather hilarious.

          “The bread’s on the second shelf of that cabinet over there,” Philip added, gesturing to his right. John followed his son’s hand, successfully locating and retrieving the bread. He then bestowed it upon Philip with an air of _I don’t know what to do with this but I should – but you know what to do with this and you also should, so it’s okay._

          “Thanks,” Philip said, accepting the food and taking it to the cooktop, where he proceeded to toast it in a frying pan. Neither John nor Hamilton, although acknowledging the few benefits of the pan, understood why Philip made toast in the pad and eschewed the use of a simple, humble toaster. As the bread warmed, Philip took several eggs from the fridge, cracking them into a small bowl in which he whisked them together, just enough for the yolk and white to be properly combined. Once the toast was deemed complete, he handed the slices out, the three Laurens-Hamiltons snacking on them while awaiting the completion of Philip’s omelets. After this event, the food was hungrily scarfed down in a matter of minutes, not even bothering to sit at the table and standing around it instead.

          “Come on, let’s go,” Hamilton then said. Philip nodded, dashing into his room for earbuds and a thin, battered text: _Macbeth_. It was rather entertaining, sitting with Angelica and “assigning” roles to people; Alexander’s two greatest enemies, James Madison and Thomas Jefferson, were respectively dubbed Banquo and Macduff. Alexander Hamilton himself was bestowed with the honor of being named the title character.

          Angelica’s home was only an hour and a half away from Philip’s; however, with the busy lives of all four and the tendency to spend the night, Non-Biological Aunt Angelica might as well have been an ocean away, all the way in London, where she had spent a year abroad. During this time, Angelica and Alexander had only corresponded through mail – it would make the content longer, richer, and more meaningful, apparently, something that they claimed wouldn’t happen if they emailed, texted, called, or Skyped. They were weird like that.

          Sitting in the backseat of the car, alone, with his earbuds in, Philip stretched out as much as he could along the two seats – three, if you counted the tiny, awkward middle one – and attempted to get at least a minute of sleep, so cruelly deprived from him. Sadly, blissful oblivion again eluded Philip; he was forced to artificially simulate the darkness by refusing to open his eyes for the entire drive.

          Upon arrival at Angelica’s which was really the Schuyler home that had been given to her after 1) Eliza and Peggy moved out, 2) their parents retired and relocated to a small, idyllic town, and 3) Angelica completed not only college, but graduate school. The eldest Schuyler somehow managed to balance a high-profile journalism career with social activism and forays into the dog-eats-dog world of politics, along with a healthy social and private life. Unsurprisingly, she was seen as the genius of the family, made even more of a monumental statement, considering the achievements of her younger sisters.

          However, every genius had their pointless crusades, experiments, and bouts of insanity. What had sparked it was a fire also deeply felt in Alexander – the disappointing, lacking, most dissatisfying Snickers candy bar.

          “Just look at their motto – _Snickers Satisfies_ ,” Alexander mocked. “What a load of bullshit.”

          “I have _never_ been satisfied, and I never _will_ be satisfied!” Angelica responded.

          “And God be with them, those who consume these soulless things without question,” Alexander said, then they both finished in union.

          _“I hope they’re satisfied!”_


End file.
